


Temptation Ltd.

by andreacsenge



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, Original Language: Hungarian, Translation, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreacsenge/pseuds/andreacsenge
Summary: What could a successful assassin do if (after an already pretty tiring day) the Devil, along with his six exceptionally attractive colleagues, shows up in her apartment? Maybe she could roll over, keep sleeping and attempt to convince herself that she imagined the whole thing.Unfortunately for her, Serene Nightingale can’t dismiss the insolent, narcissistic, as well as extremely good-looking Lord of Hell just like that. As it happens, Lucifer doesn’t seek her out in the middle of the night for nothing: there's a contest between him and the Almighty Mother Pandora for Serene’s soul. If the Creator wins, half the world will be free from evil. If Lucifer does, he'll be free to enter Heaven for the first time since his banishment.It might not be surprising that Miss Nightingale gets sick of the otherworldly whoop-de-doo in two minutes flat. She's tired of the angels and demons showing up from every which way... and the female embodiment of Death is the one who gets on her nerves the most.While more and more mortals get caught up in the turf war taking place in London, Serene slowly starts to lose herself – and who ends up taking her defenseless soul is dependent only on luck and precise tactics.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I want to become a translator after finishing my education, I often translate things as practice, but I've always only done them from English to my mother language. This is me breaking habit, and doing it the other way around. So here's one of my favourite books, which unfortunately didn't have an English translation until now. Enjoy! :)
> 
> Author: Imre Viktória Anna  
> Original title: Kísértés Rt.  
> Original language: Hungarian
> 
> The story, characters and illustrations belong to Imre Viktória Anna.

“The following memoranda are exclusively owned by Temptation Ltd. archives.  
The duplication, tampering, or dissemination of these memoranda in an unauthorised manner is...  
...strongly advised.”

Lucifer  
_Chief Executive of Temptation Ltd._

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Wednesday**

 

Serene Nightingale could have imagined a more pleasant night for herself than waiting around in a dark, abandoned street in the outskirts of London with a plastic bag on her forearm and her notes for the next day’s Modern Philosophy exam in her grasp. The paper was spotted with tiny brown specks, but she wasn’t bothered by those. More so, she was bothered by the fact that it was way past ten o’clock, and her brother was still nowhere to be found.

She sighed. In times like these, she admitted to herself that choosing Philosophy as the foundation of her public life was a mistake. By now she knew: she should have gone with Aesthetics instead. Then not only would she have been spared from studying, but also from going to the university at all. In her defence, she had been severely deceieved: nobody had breathed a word about, for instance, having to learn Ancient Greek in the briefing.

Serene’s hands flinched over the memory. If there were anything on this Earth that she would destroy without a second thought, it was the aforementioned language. It was haunting her for the fifth year now, just like some grave-escapee zombie. (As it happens, this metaphor perfectly reflected Miss Nightingale’s general opinion of dead languages.)

Two street corners over a car took a turn into the lane she was standing in. Serene quickly backed in the closest gateway (since a lone young lady who is studying philosophy on a cold October night on the street is unusual at best), but her efforts proved unnecessary: a familiar black Mercedes was the car that pulled over next to the bus stop sign, with her brother behind the wheel.

A bespectacled man of average height got out of the vehicle. He was wearing an ash-grey suit, holding his car keys in one hand and a rather large, black bin-liner in the other.

“I’m really sorry,” he said when he noticed Serene. “I got lost three times before I managed to get here.”

“The map is a brilliant invention, Vincent. The sooner you learn to use it, the less time Mr Reeves’s head has to spend in a plastic bag.” With that said, the girl gracefully dropped her package in the open bin-liner.

Vincent Nightingale decided to ignore the jab at his person. He’d got used to his sister’s mocking comments… he’d come to like them, actually.

“His wife will be thrilled,” he said joyously. “She’s paid a small fortune to have you kill him and give her his head. I wonder what the poor guy has done to her.”

“He probably cheated.” Serene shrugged and walked up to the door at the passenger’s seat. “Or she had some other petty reason. Maybe she wants the insurance money. To be honest, I don’t really care. What I do care about is forwarding the head to her before midnight, so be so kind as to move and give me a lift home already. I have to feed my cat.”

The man shook his head, but he did as he was told. He unlocked the car so they could get in, then tied a tight knot on the neck of the bin-liner and dropped the package in his sister’s lap. Not even through two layers could he bear touching corpses. They distracted him from driving.

In the light of the car’s interior it was evident how much alike he and Serene looked: they had the same coaly shade of hair, alabaster skin and plump lips. At first glance, nobody would’ve been able to tell that they weren’t actually related. It was only when one eyed them for long enough that the small yet obvious differences started to appear: the man’s higher forehead, his much longer nose; and Serene, bearing her parents’ shocking blue eyes.

“Do you want to be late so badly?” inquired the girl.

“Of course not,” her brother said calmly as he started the engine. “I just find your impatience unusual, is all. The last time I saw you like this, you were still a newbie.”

“I was _born_ an assassin,” came the cold reply.

Vincent couldn’t resist a grin this time. He remembered the then-eighteen-year-old teenager vividly, the one who had been shaking with a mixture of fear and enthusiasm, holding a bloody knife in her hand as she stared at her first victim laying in the middle of the living room — an unlucky burglar.

“If you really were born an assassin, I wouldn’t have had to clean up after you on your first kill,” he pointed out.

Serene turned to stare through the window so that the man wouldn’t notice the blood rushing to her face. _Great_. Having her only living family remind her of her past slip-ups was exactly what she needed after an exhausting job. As if her carefully built career wasn’t proof enough that she did so have talent for the profession!

“I was just surprised,” she grumbled dejectedly. “That was the first time in a long while that I’d felt something.”

In all honesty, that was the exact reason why Vincent had decided back then to make an assassin out of his sister. After their parents’ deaths, the girl acted like somebody tore all of her emotions out by the roots: she got through her daily routine robotically, spoke when spoken to — but the light disappeared from her eyes and it only came back when she killed the burglar that night.

“What do you think they would say if they saw us right now?” Serene asked, and her brother needed a moment to realise she was talking about their parents. “Their adopted son is a successful judge, a rising star of the British judiciary. Their own daughter on the other hand…” She trailed off.

“I think Mum and Dad would want us to be happy,” Vincent said after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “Ironically, you find this happiness by taking others’ lives. It’s not your fault. Although,” he grinned, “they probably have to engage in some terribly uncomfortable conversations about their ‘naughty’ kids in Heaven.”

The girl was tracing small circles on the nylon covering Mr Reeves’s head.

“You should know I don’t believe in Heaven,” she said after a while. “If there really were a God, he wouldn’t have taken them from us.”

“You’re right,” the man said quickly, somewhat startled. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.”

Serene nodded, and her brother slowly let out the breath he had been holding. He tried to focus on the road, but he still felt his heartbeat picking up.

He was stupid and careless. He should be much more mindful of his words around Serene. He, who knew very well that her job was the only thing that kept the girl’s head above the deep waters of insanity, shouldn’t be mentioning Heaven and salvation. Because what would even happen if Serene suddenly started to believe the tales of afterlife? First, fear would take her heart in an iron grip, then devastating remorse, and finally she would sink back into that bottomless pit of apathy that can’t be escaped a second time — only by death.

“I’ll come by with the money tomorrow evening.” Vincent was trying to steer the conversation into a happier direction.

“That’ll only be possible if you get to the meeting place in time,” the girl pointed out wisely. “You have exactly one hour till midnight.”

Mr Nightingale was regretting opening his mouth. Serene was a kind, quiet and reserved young woman by nature – but she had him like a puppet on a string. Of course, Vincent only had himself to blame: for twenty-three years he hadn’t done anything but spoil his sister. He had started when Serene was born, and his devotion became borderline unhealthy after their parents died. But what else could he have done? This angel of death with a soul broken into shards was the only family he had left. He would die for her.

“I won’t be late,” he half-sang with eternal patience, righting the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “If only because we’re already here.”

Serene glanced out the window in surprise as the car slowed. Indeed, they were in a familiar neighbourhood: on the right, across the street was a park cast in shadows and on the left, a gateway. Vincent had used such an inconspicuous route that the girl didn’t even notice when they entered Brompton.

“Sometimes you scare me,” Miss Nightingale commented. She zipped up her jacket before opening the door.

“Pot, meet kettle.” The man was staring at the black nylon bag on the passenger’s seat in distaste.

“Stop whining, Vincent. Give it an hour, and you’ll forget all about it.”

“Easy for you to say. _You_ never fainted in Biology when corpses were mentioned.”

Truth be told, out of the both of them, it had never been the girl who could be easily disturbed — being so stoically calm, she was just as liable as Vincent was due to the three years he had on his adoptive sister. So Serene let out a resigned sigh, and leaning over Mr Reeves’s covered head, she kissed the judge on the tip of his nose.

“Will you be alright now?” she asked kindly.

Vincent’s words escaped him. Affectionate gestures coming from the assassin only happened once in a blue moon, so his reaction was exactly what Serene had expected: an awkward nod and a dreamy, somewhat dumb smile.

She strongly hoped that her brother was still present enough to drive to the rendezvous safely. She herself turned on her heel and walked to the gate.

Serene lived on the topmost floor of a three-storey apartment-building in a flat with two bedrooms. Her windows faced the park, and that alone had earned the animosity of her neighbour, Miss Fleming, who was cursed with chronic prying tendencies. The elderly lady’s fondness of the girl just plummeted further when Serene started to redecorate her apartment so as to make her old dream come true and have the interior resemble a gothic cathedral; and when our heroine dared to adopt a stray cat, the old woman had had enough: only with various niceties and favours did Serene manage to convince her neighbour to bury the hatchet. After all that, it wasn’t a wonder she crossed the danger zone stretching from the stairs to her door on her tiptoes every time — just like she was doing right now — in order not to give another reason for Miss Fleming to complain.

“Victory!” she whispered with a grin when she was finally standing on her own doormat, keys in hand. She didn’t even want to think about what the old hag would have said if she heard Serene arriving home so late.

The lock turned, the door opened — and Serene Nightingale had a ginger furball in her face in an instant, coming in from the depths of the apartment. This surprised her. But however unexpected the attack was, she still had enough presence of mind to blindly feel around behind her for the doorknob, and shut out the outside world with one movement. It would be unfortunate to have the entire corridor listening to her scold her cat.

“Get off me!” she groaned, using both hands to peel the massive ginger cat off her face.

Amadeus – that was the pet’s name – landed on the other end of the small hallway with an offended meow. He, essentially, liked Serene, even if he often found her an insensitive female due to her lack of caring about his severe panic attacks. The cat was absolutely convinced that everyone in the world was out for his life. He spent long hours fabricating different conspiracy theories, imagined far-fetched connections everywhere and thought of himself as a representative of a superior species forced into the physical form of a pet. Of all this, Serene only noticed that Amadeus spent an unusual amount of time staring at nothing and running amok.

The tomcat and his owner glared at each other for a long moment, then Miss Nightingale decided to take the first step towards making up, fetching and opening a can of cat food. (Amadeus’s earsplitting purring a heartbeat afterwards meaning to express the eternal admiration he felt towards the girl reflected his weak personality rather well.)

Serene took off her jacket, then absentmindedly scratched Amadeus’s head (who was still busy eating), then throwing her clothes off on the way, she locked herself in the bathroom. Soon enough, the sound of running water and a lovely voice filled the apartment — the assassin loved singing.

While she was busy cleaning herself, the mirror in the hallway, which had been granted unduly scant attention until now, became the stage of rather unusual occurences. Firstly, out of it stepped Melpomene First-Class Fallen Angel, muse, exceptionally talented succubus and favourite lover of the Demon Lord of Hell, who then righted her midnight-black coat and blood-red tie. Since she was already standing in front of the mirror, she checked the state of her attire as well: her plaid miniskirt covered about fifteen centimetres of her long thighs. The rest of her legs were in fishnets and knee-high, black Doc Martens boots. Not a crease, tear or sulphur stain in sight. _Perfect._

She grinned smugly with a seemingly seventeen, yet in reality several–aeons–old–girl’s charm. From under her black-as-coal hair, red horns peeked out cheekily.

She looked over herself once more, then frowned. In all honestly, she was rather sick of the red-black combo, but her boss was insistent on the uniform. _That kinky bastard_ , Melpomene thought, annoyed.

She didn’t have the chance to finish cursing to herself when the surface of the mirror started rippling, and another woman arrived in Serene Nightingale’s hallway.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped at Melpomene. “If we don’t prepare for welcoming the Master until midnight…”

The girl swallowed a hysteric laugh upon hearing the word ‘Master’. There wasn’t a creature in the world other than Erato who spoke of their boss with such rabid admiration. Well, maybe there were. A few problematic teenagers who founded secret cults to get on their parents’ nerves… and a few problematic adults who also gathered in cults. (They probably didn’t even know themselves whose nerves they wanted to get on.)

“Calm down,” she said evenly, and pointed at the badge on the chest of her coat. “I’m still your superior, in case you forgot. When all six of us get here, _that’s_ when we’ll welcome the Boss. We have twelve minutes until midnight; that’s more than enough.”

Erato turned her back on the other succubus furiously, and hid her face behind her long hair. Her green eyes flashed with jealousy. _Superior, as if!_ She had no idea why Melpomene was chosen to be their leader. She wasn’t even a seraph back then, only a cherub; not to mention what an underdeveloped wench she was. And now _she_ was the one bossing them around. There’s no justice. Not on Earth, not in Hell.

Melpomene was just about to get bored of Erato’s silent hatred, when the mirror opened once again, and a playful little girl danced out of it.

“Euterpe, I told you not to go without me!” sounded a worried voice from behind the mirror, then the little demon girl’s sister, Calliope arrived from Hell as well.

Their silvery hair matched in shade, and one could tell at first glance that they were siblings. The only difference between them was the fact that while Euterpe admired the Prince of Darkness and called him ‘big brother,’ Calliope hated him with a passion because she was one hundred percent sure: the man had dishonourable intentions towards her little sister. (Truth be told, her concern wasn’t entirely unfounded.)

 _Four_ , Melpomene counted. Only two succubi were missing: Thaleia, the kind but not that bright blonde and Kleio, the Boss’s spectacled, serious secretary.

After the both of them stepped out of the mirror almost at the same time, Serene’s tiny hallway became rather crowded. Melpomene peeped into the living room, and when she only spotted Amadeus snoring on the couch, she beckoned her collegues to start sneaking towards Miss Nightingale’s bedroom.

By the time a humming Serene appeared in the doorway, using all of their infernal talents, they had managed to disguise themselves as decoration.

The girl absently slipped out of her bathrobe and pale-blue, fluffy slippers, then laid down on her bed with a sensual sigh. She couldn’t put into words how much she loved sliding under her covers after a job well done. With a smile on her face, she turned about for a while to find the most comfortable position for the ritual of resting, and then let herself fall asleep.

She couldn’t sleep for long.

The most attractive women in the universe noiselessly sneaked out from their hiding places, formed a perfect circle around the double bed, then took each other’s hands and let their infernal powers loose.

Bright red symbols blazed up on the floor, from somewhere the wind started blowing, and Amadeus’s plaintive meowing from under the couch demanded Serene to stop terrorising him.

Speaking of the owner of the place, Miss Nightingale was sitting wide awake on her bed, gripping her self-defense nunchaku, and her entire body was shaking as she stared at the impromtu ceremony. In the middle of the circle formed by the demonesses, black flames flared up, Hell opened, and an exceptionally good-looking young man stepped out of the gate, grinning wickedly. Only the fluttering red-black scarf wrapped around his neck was more remarkable than his shoulder-length hair, sporting similar colours.

As soon as the underworldly gate closed, darkness settled into the room once more. The newcomer’s glowing golden eyes were the brightest sources of light in the dark, Serene realised in horror. As the women stepped beside him and their demonic irises flared up as well, the sight became not unlike an eerie line of hovering fireflies.

The man stepped to the bed, and bowed deeply.

“Good evening, Miss Nightingale,” he greeted the girl after he straightened, voice overflowing with self-confidence. “I am Lucifer, Demon Lord of Hell and Chief Executive of Temptation Ltd. I have come to take your soul.”

 

* * *

 

**Thursday**

 

Amadeus was sick of this. He’d been enjoying Serene Nightingale’s hospitality for half a year now, but never, not once did he have to endure such derogatory treatment before. It wasn’t enough that his owner (who the cat liked to refer to as his personal slave) was stinking of blood when she arrived home then gave him chicken flavoured cat food instead of fish flavoured (even though Amadeus had informed her many times that he couldn’t stand chicken), but now she also wanted to give him a heart attack.

That half-baked idea of an anonymous call to the RSPCA was maturing considerably. The ginger cat’s every hair stood on end due to the pure evil coming from the bedroom’s general direction. He had no idea why he wanted to flee, but he felt like deserting the place via the window. Somehow even suicide sounded better than whatever it was on the other side of the door that decided to drop by.

What "dropped by" – _snapped_ in an irate male voice!

“How many times do I have to tell you, Miss Nightingale, that you are not dreaming?!”

For Amadeus, this was the final straw. Meowing desperately, he plunged into the closest cabinet and didn’t come out until the next day.

 

* * *

 

Lucifer, as the omnipotent Lord of Hell, was the master of manipulating mortals. They were descended from him, in essence; they received their emotions from him. He knew it like the back of his hand how to wrap them around his little finger.

However, now he failed due to the simple fact that he had arrived at night, and Serene Nightingale’s mind decided not to overwhelm its owner with all this paranormal garbage. Instead, it let the girl believe that she was imagining the whole thing.

“So, you’re the Devil,” Serene giggled, as if tipsy. “I don’t see any horns or goat legs, though.”

The Prince of Darkness sighed deeply, like someone who just realised that they have to deal with a nitwit.

“Look, Miss Nightingale, you of all people should know that nothing is as it seems. You, for instance, convey the impression of a mere university student, when in reality you are a cold-blooded murderer. I might seem like a burglar breaking and entering, but I am actually the Devil.”

Serene hiccoughed. Had this handsome hallucination on her bed really called her a cold-blooded murderer? That couldn’t be good.

“So… the Devil,” she repeated hesitantly.

“As I have estabilished at least three times, Miss Nightingale, yes, I am Lucifer, Demon Lord of Hell,” said the man in the long, red leather coat, rubbing his temple tiredly. “Next time I’ll bring a board and write my name on it in six languages.”

“Board for the Boss,” murmured Kleio to herself, taking notes.

That was the moment Serene actually comprehended that besides the strange intruder, six young women were sitting on her bed as well. This in and of itself would have caused some awkward questions, but her concern deepened thanks to the fact that on the ladies’ heads were red horns, arrow-headed tails at the end of their spines, and scarlet bat wings on their backs.

“Yes, Miss Nightingale, my colleagues are in fact rather lovely,” cut the Demon Lord into her thoughts. “However, I would like you to listen to me at last, and have some reaction to what I say. Possibly in a fashion that a representative of this planet’s dominant species would.”

“I’m not dreaming, then?” the girl asked in a small voice.

Lucifer groaned irately, then cursed in an unknown language. It was apparent that one more question like that and he would strangle Serene with his bare hands… which wouldn’t have been particularly pleasant, considering that religiously manicured black claws decorated the ends of his fingers.

“I think we should find a different target, Boss,” Melpomene cut in as she noticed wrinkles of frustration darkening Lucifer’s handsome face. “I’m sure that we could find a femme fatale in a less civilised country as well. You wouldn’t have to convince her that you aren’t lying for a change.”

“I can’t, Melpomene,” said the man, shaking his head. “I made a bet with Pandora, and the object of that bet was Serene Nightingale’s soul. You know what’s at stake. I can’t lose.”

The leader of the demonesses shrugged, and stayed quiet. Part of her was really curious how the Demon Lord would deal with the currently lamentable situation.

“My soul?” blinked Serene. “Is this some kind of a prank? I hope you’re aware that you can’t publish anything you’re recording without my permission—”

“Kleio, Calliope, seize her!” Lucifer snapped, losing his patience at last. “Hold her firmly; a fragile flower the lady is not.”

Before Serene could have realised that she was about to be assaulted, the addressed succubi grabbed her wrists and elbows from both sides, and pulled her upper body down onto the bed. Strong hands took hold of her legs as well, so she couldn’t move. The red-coated man, with the striped scarf around his neck, leaned over her and gently caressed the side of her cheek.

“Believe me, Miss Nightingale, I would have respected your personal space and explained everything verbally,” he murmured into her ear, “but you have not let me describe the situation and kept preventing our conversation with unnecessary questions. So I do not have a choice aside from resorting to faster and simpler, although somewhat more intrusive methods.”

In the next moment, Serene felt the stranger’s lips on hers, and the kiss brought incorporeal heat into her body through her mouth. She wanted to scream — suddenly every fibre of her being stung with pain, but Lucifer was holding her firmly, and the girl felt her attacker smile. Pictures invaded her mind of a dreary, sombre heath, of demons, fiends, creatures whose name she didn’t even know, a red-headed woman, a—

At that moment, Serene Nightingale’s mind hung up its boots, and turned off.

 

* * *

 

A caring hand was wiping her forehead with a wet, soft cloth. Serene opened her eyes carefully, but when bright light blinded her upon doing so, she groaned and closed them again. Her temple was throbbing slightly.

“I suspected this would happen,” she heard a familiar voice say from her bedside. There was a click, and the lamp on the bedside table turned off. “You can open your eyes now.”

She reluctantly complied, and as she stared into the darkness, her headache miraculously disappeared. In the moonlight filtering though her window, she saw the man in red squeeze the cloth into a bowl of water, which he then put on Serene’s forehead once again. His skin touched hers, and as though a switch was being flipped in her head, Serene was reminded of the vision’s every picture. She almost fainted again, but the man shook her shoulders, which helped her come to in time.

“Who the hell are you?” she whispered with horror.

“Bullseye, sweetheart — that’s where I live. I’m Satan, the Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies, the Beast, whatever you prefer. But I like ‘Lucifer’ the best, so let’s run with that.”

Serene Nightingale regarded the man sitting on the edge of her bed carefully. A nonsensical hairdo starting out as crimson at the roots, but turning black abrubtly near his eyes; a striped scarf, a red leather jacket, under which was nothing but a pentagram-shaped pendant laid against the gentleman’s pale torso… and a pair of red leather pants to boot. Oh, and golden, cat-like eyes. And black claws. Nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed more like a rockstar, not the commander of infernal armies.

“Where did your… colleagues go?” She forced out the first and only sensible question that came to mind.

“I’ve sent them back to Hell,” Lucifer replied. “I noticed having so many of us around made you somewhat anxious. Now that we’re alone, you might be more… serene.”

Serene _serenely_ gulped once, and started to look for impromptu weapons around her. She just realised that a complete stranger was sitting on her bed, and she couldn’t have been more vulnerable — her self-defense nunchaku had disappeared as well.

Lucifer met her eyes and grinned wickedly.

“If I wanted to hurt you, all the weapons in this apartment put together wouldn’t be enough to protect yourself,” he said reassuringly. “But I wouldn’t dream of hurting a lovely lady such as yourself. Physically, I mean. What I’m interested in is your soul, but I’ve already mentioned that.”

Indeed, Serene recalled him saying something about that… although, with all the absurd stuff happening, she couldn’t remember everything Lucifer talked about. It wasn’t something to be surprised by.

“You mentioned a bet,” she frowned in thought.

“A bet, indeed,” the demonlord nodded, and laid on his stomach to have his chin prepped up on Serene’s bent knees. “I made a bet with God and my side of that is getting your soul to Hell at all costs. That’s why I’m here.”

Miss Nightingale took a moment to digest this information, then switched into unfriendly mode.

“Why me?”

“It was a random choice,” Lucifer shrugged. “Pandora agreed, because you’re a healthy young woman who she sees some hope in.”

“Pandora?”

“God.” His pupils dilated somewhat in his golden irises. “Pandora is the Almighty Mother of all of Creation, who kicked out yours truly from Heaven over a tiny misunderstanding. And we’d just started warming up to each other.”

Serene was staring at the King of Hell, unblinking, then shook her head in denial and stared at him again.

“Are you telling me that God is a woman?” she blurted.

“Oh, and what a woman!” Lucifer purred. “She maintained her heavenly figure even after giving birth to our children—”

“To your _what?_ ” This was all Serene could manage, since the conversation was starting to take unbelievable directions. She felt like someone out of some bizarre novel.

The demonlord sat up, and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“It’d be a rather long story to tell,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “but anything for victory, I suppose. After I finish the story, you’ll be the only mortal on Earth who knows _everything_ about this world.”

Although Lucifer had no way of knowing it, this time he was wrong. Truth be told, he wasn’t the only one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which via Lucifer’s detailed and more or less objective narrative, we get to know the three playing first fiddle as well as the untold origins of the birth of mankind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every second week" LOL, you're so funny. Well yeah, my lovely beta had a lot on her plate recently, so she didn't have much time for looking through my scribbles. I decided to post the second chapter anyway: when she had the time to edit it, I'll just update it. So yeah, prepare for grammatical errors/typos.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

“It would be best if I started at the very beginning,” said the man.

“And when was that?” inquired Serene curiously.

“It began, princess, when your nice little planet wasn’t even a twinkle in the eye yet. There was Heaven, Hell and Nowhere, and I was still residing in the clouds, teasing angels or storming my brilliant brain about mischiefs in my free time.”

Lucifer fell silent for a moment, as if remembering bygone memories caused his emotions to overflow. Of course, this couldn’t have been further from the truth: he was just trying to determine how exactly he should tell the story to Miss Nightingale.

Finally, he took a deep breath, and began.

* * *

Pandora was laying with her hand under her head and her eyes closed on the emerald-green grass, listening to the incessant chorus of the seraphs. The melody resounded in grand fervour and praised her, reciting deifying adjectives one after the other. They praised her slenderness, her snow white skin, her deep red hair and her innocent, sky-blue eyes. They also mentioned her bright mind and her creativity, but quickly got back to her eyes, carefully avoiding mentioning that their mistress wasn’t even visible from behind a fluffier cloud, she was so short. Pandora was pretty damn bored of the seraphs.

Their leader was an ambitious skirt-chaser, who decided that he will marry her one day. As a consequence, the parts praising Pandora’s allures in the lyrics of the hymns skyrocketed, and she came to regret the very idea to create this dumb, screeching species of angels. Seraphs might be the highest ranking in the immortals’ hierarchy, but on second thought, they were completely useless.

She’d just decided to emphasize her godly authority by erasing the seraphs, when a rather handsome man landed on her out of the blue – that was me.

“Lucifer!” the Creator groaned, then kicked me off of her in the least ladylike manner possible. 

I lay down in the green, laughing and not caring about the bits of grass sticking to my coat (or the size four footprint on my stomach). I adored it when Pandora bared her teeth, so I teased her a lot. It wasn’t like the yelling I usually got for my mischiefs motivated me; it was more so the teasing itself and her reactions.

Pandora sat up huffily, sweeping bits of grass off her pale-blue dress.

“What do you want?” she asked when she got bored of my amusement.

In the distance, the seraphs started a new melody, in twelve voices. (Later on Pandora would title the song  _ My Heart Will Go On _ , and she saw that it was good.)

I allowed myself the audacity to hug her and kiss her deeply. She fidgeted for a while, but for no use; my smooth fingers held her face firmly until I got what I wanted: a taste of the world’s most beautiful woman’s sweet lips. She was just as intoxicating as I imagined.

After a few minutes, I let her go and lay in the grass, grinning. If cats had existed back then, the Creator would have had a faint idea what I bear a resemblance to, but right then my person and behaviour was one enormous question mark in her eyes.

“I’ve come for this,” I told her, and flashed my charming eyes at her. Pandora touched her lips. I knew they were tingling pleasantly, because I was feeling the same thing.

“What in my name was that?!” she snapped furiuosly. Mostly because she felt herself blush, but she didn’t know the reason for it.

“A kiss,” I replied triumphantly. “I’ve just invented it, and wanted to test it on you. Do you want to see my other inventions?”

Pandora eyed me thoughtfully, still caressing her mouth. We’ve always known each other: Maara and the two of us existed since the beginning of time. Pandora sometimes created things, and Maara destroyed them when their time came. They thought I wasn’t doing anything, just hover about them. They sometimes caught me manicuring my claws or brushing my hair, and on these occasions they snickered at me behind my back. They were convinced that I was a good-for-nothing layabout who can’t even take care of himself… you know, Pandora made up my striped scarf for me too, when I complained about how cold Heaven was.

The Creator sighed. Immortality is tough if someone does unexpected things every which minute around you, but the truth was that she liked me a whole lot. None of those angels of hers could brush her knee-lenght, wildly wavy hair like I could.

“Alright. Let’s say I’m curious.” I could see that she truly was interested: until now, I’ve never come up with anything.

She got a wicked grin as a reward. As part of the preparations, I started to strip; I was excited.

“Didn’t you say you were cold?” Pandora blinked shyly, but couldn’t continue: I pushed her onto the grass, and took off her clothes as well.

“And now,” I whispered in her ear eagerly, “you can experience my greatest invention. It’s called ‘love.’”

* * *

Maara glanced out through one of the windows of the glass palace built at the edge of Heaven, looking bored. Only an endless meadow of cheekily frizzling clouds and a just as endless wasteland on the earth – these stared back at her, nothing more.

She whet her scythe day after day, but for no use: Pandora hasn’t created anything in a long time that she could have taken the life of. Sometimes she hunted angels out of boredom, but those were annoyingly immortal, and however she breathed on, touched, cuffed or cut them to pieces, upon Pandora’s single wave, they were walking in one piece again. Even her angel-wing collection crawled off the walls, going back to their original owners.

She huffed angrily. She didn’t have the power to create things. She could only destroy, and she enjoyed it wholeheartedly when she got the chance to do so.

Alright, so that wasn’t all. When those busybody angels (and in her belief, me) weren’t looking, she took out her handmade patterns and sew lace designs onto her dark curtains; and using the leftover materials, she liked to decorate her not too diverse wardrobe: her usual attire consisted of full-body fishnets, a black angel-leather corset, pants, gloves and boots. She liked to express her mood through her various scythes rather than her clothing.

She smiled, recalling that she at least had some kind of power, unlike ‘that good-for-nothing Lucifer.’ Just that day she’d kicked me out of the palace no less than three times, because I was hell-bent on showing her  _ something. _ (Foolish woman; she didn’t know what she missed out on!)

Maara turned away from the window. Even though she loathed the sunlight, she still lived in this wonder of glass. (In my opinion, she had an unhealthy amount of masochistic tendencies.) If it hadn’t been Pandora who created it for her, accompanied by a hug, she would never have moved in.

She ran her fingers through her black mane and set off to the bathroom to have a pleasant, lukewarm bloodbath when something stopped her.

She forced herself to turn her head to the side because that’s where the signal that something wasn’t right had come from. She wasn’t elated when she realised where the glass corridor staring back at her led.

The floor in the Hall of Candles was covered in black water, on the surface of which billions of tiny candles floated. Their function was to measure the lifetime of mortal creatures, but since Pandora hadn’t done any large-scale creating action in a while, none of them should have been lit.

_ Should have been. _

Maara leaned over the railing and her violet eyes widened.

Down there, two candles lit up by themselves.

* * *

I was grinning from ear to ear. I’d never felt so satisfied before, not to mention that Pandora looked like she had enjoyed it as well.

“So… this is love,” she said, breathless.

“Indeed,” I smiled at her mischeviously, then wrapped my arms around her. I was feeling more and more ingenious, and a foreign warmness heated my chest that had nothing to do with the exhaustion caused by demonstrating my ‘invention.’ “You don’t regret letting me show it to you, do you?”

“The seraphs have fallen silent,” she said, ignoring my question.

“Thank heavens.”

Pandora slipped out from my arms and stood up, creating her dress back onto her body.

“The seraphs have never, not for a single moment, stopped singing,” she frowned, confused. “Something’s wrong.”

“Maybe they’re tired, too,” I guessed, somewhat disappointed about seeing the woman in her clothes again.

Pandora was looking over to where the singing had been echoing from barely half an hour ago in concern.

“What do you see?” Black-clawed fingers slythered to her chest as I stepped up behind her and draped my arms around her.

“Maara,” she said simply. “The seraphs must’ve been in her way, because she seems to be in a hurry.”

I gulped. As I mentioned before, I had met Maara that day already, and it didn’t end well.  To be exact, I’d wanted to convince her to do what Pandora agreed to, but Maara didn’t give in… and it wasn’t too wise to be cross with her. Even if she couldn’t kill me, she had come up with several torturing methods during the aeons. Not to mention that she could tell Pandora what I asked her to do, and my pint-sized girlfriend wouldn’t be too happy about that. Not at all.

“Whatever she says, it didn’t happen,” I whispered in her ear.

The Creator glanced at me suspiciously, but she didn’t have time to question me: Maara had arrived.

* * *

“You bastard!”

I landed in the grass with a painful grunt, and noted in annoyance that I had bitten my tongue. It hurt, it also bled… but fortunately, my red leather pants were alright. Can you imagine how humilating it would’ve been to ask for another pair from Pandora after all this? And malls weren’t a thing yet in Heaven.

Pandora was standing over me, eyes flashing, and she was preparing for her next blow. I had never seen her so angry, even though I threw her fluffy slippers at the angels once, which she was rather cut to the quick by. Behind her, Maara was filing her nails with a bored expression on her face.

“I don’t know what’s your problem,” I moaned in confusion as I licked the blood from the corner of my lips. “You always complain that you’re lonely. Now you won’t be.”

It was true. Pandora was informed by Maara barely five minutes ago that two lives lit up in the Hall of Candles, and the Creator didn’t have a single idea how could that be possible. Only she had the ability in the universe to create life by sheer will. However, after some calculations, it turned out that the two candles lit up in the exact moment as I finished showing her my “invention”...

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Maara snapped, getting bored of me not taking the situation seriously. “I thank my sanity I slammed the door on your pointy nose when you tried to try this out on me! You–”

“I,” I stood up, and my face split in a triumphant grin from the realisation, “have given life! Therefore my powers are equal to Pandora’s.”

Back then I didn’t realise how much of an overestimation that was, not to mention not noticing how cold my test subject’s eyes had turned upon hearing Maara’s words. In that moment, I was feeling omnipotent. Even if the results of my creatory work were living somewhere inside Pandora’s body – as we had managed to figure it out. To use the present-day phrase, I had got her pregnant, with twins to boot.

“You don’t say?” Maara snickered derisively. “Come on, create land, water, windstorm! If your powers are equal, it must be child’s play to you, mustn’t it?”

Going on a whim, I snapped my fingers, and my left hand erupted in flames. I’d discovered this ability of mine a few days prior, and even though I jumped out of my skin then, now it was rather useful.

“This is fire, my lovely ladies. In it you can find all three elements you’ve known until now: laid by the children of earth, fed by the wind, and if you hold your palm close to it, it’ll be wet like water. Furthermore, it’s capable of heating this draughty place, therefore sustaining poor souls like yours truly all the while it destroys. I’ve outdone you, too, Maara.”

“Fire isn’t a new thing,” sneered the mistress of death. “Flames just like this burn in the Hall of Candles.”

“Is that so?” I sent a jackal-like grin in her direction. “And tell me, are you capable of controlling them to your liking?”

The Grim Reaper turned her back on the lustrous phenomenon with disdain that cloaked how green she was with envy, but Pandora pointed a finger at me mercilessly.

“I, as the creator of this world, banish you for practising the forbidden art of creating life without permission!”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t been expecting this. Awe or shocked blinking, perhaps, but not banishment! Not to mention that Pandora hadn’t ever monopolised creation; it was just that nobody could do it except for her – until now.

“I had no idea the consequences would be like this!” I defended.

“All the more. With your unresponsibility, you’ve endangered me, the Creator, because I have no idea what is growing in my body. Leave Heaven at once!”

My eyes darkened. Ungrateful crowd.

“Very well.” Signaling my determination, I rightened my coat. “I have only one question: how many female angels are there in Heaven, exactly?”

“The angels are genderless, you moron,” Maara muttered to herself, because in that moment she would have given anything to find the right comment that would trample into my soul. Too bad she knew as much about angels as a bear about table tennis.

“Nine, the muses,” Pandora blinked. “We made them together, don’t you remember? Up until you helped me, they didn’t turn out right…”

“Exactly,” I caressed Pandora’s breast as a goodbye. I knew I would miss them. “Which is why they’re mine. I’m taking all nine of them with me.”

Pandora opened her mouth in shock, then closed it. In the end, she wrinkled her nose furiously.

“Fine. Take them, I don’t care. I’ll create more.”

“Too bad you can’t make females all by yourself. You’re too proud to do so.” I started moving towards Heaven’s motion sensitive gate. “And I have every right to visit my children, don’t you forget that!”

“Go to Hell!” Pandora snapped.

“Now that you mention it, not a bad idea at all,” I winked over my shoulder, because that was exactly what I planned to do. “Come, lovelies!”

Pandora watched on furiously as nine female figures slipped out of the rows of angels and followed me while I, with my hands in my pockets walked out the gate, which then closed behind us.

“Gabriel, write it down: ‘Lucifer and his followers rebelled against the laws of Heaven, but in a gory war we have defeated them, hallelujah.’”

The angel blinked, but didn’t dare object. If Pandora was angry, she could’ve turned him into something hideous easily.

The Creator turned on her heels, and stormed off. A new feeling overcame her, which had nothing to do with the children growing in her stomach.

_ Jealous? Her? _

Ridiculous.

* * *

Serene stared at the devil lying on her bed in shock.

“Are you trying to feed me that–” she managed, “you were banished from Heaven because you got God pregnant?”

“Something like that,” Lucifer purred. “I had to do a walk of shame all the way to Hell, which by the way had to undergo some serious renovations. The fiends worked for a whole night before it was inhabitable. You can imagine how incovenient all of this was for me.”

She tried to imagine it, but it wasn’t easy. The demonlord decided to help her out:

“Pandora used to store her failed creations in the place,” he said. “We had to kick out the former residents, and that wasn’t the easiest thing to do either. In the end, my palace was built in record time, so we could move in. I turned the muses into demonesses, founded my business, and managed to get the right to name my children when they were born.”

* * *

Adam and Eve grew up quickly, or at least to Pandora it seemed that they did. Although to someone who was immortal since the beginning of time, a year was merely a blink. Before she knew, Adam had become a handsome young man and Eve a beautiful woman. All day they spent their time in the enormous garden created just for them, while their mother tenderly, and Maara impatiently watched over them.

“When will they die already?” she asked Pandora one day when the children looked way too happy and carefree to her tastes.

The Creator shot an icy look towards Death.

“In the terms of out agreement, they’re immortal because they’re unique in all Creation: I made you take their candles out of the Hall of Candles, too! You surely didn’t think I’d give them to you once I got bored of them!”

“I’ve been waiting for that since they were born! Are you telling me I was suffering for sixteen years for nothing?!”

Pandora’s answer was rather irritable and a heated argument sprang up between them, so I was able to climb over the fence unawares.

Eve was sitting under an apple tree, and her brother was sleeping peacefully next to her in the grass when I stepped in front of them in my red leather coat and smiled.

“You’ve grown up nicely, Eve.”

“How do you know my name?” the girl, who resembled her mother painfully so asked, blinking.

“The thing is, I am your father.” Later on, this sentence of mine became rather popular. If I had known, I would’ve copyrighted it.

“I see.” Eve’s expression clouded over somewhat. “Mom told us to be careful with you, because you’re a good-for-nothing, evil guy who robbed her of her best years.”

I blinked at her, dumbfounded.

“What else did Pandora tell you about me?” I inquired, preparing for the worst.

“That you live with forty women in a brothel.”

I paled somewhat, then cleared my throat and sat down in the grass in front of my daughter.

“Look, Eve… let’s start over. My name is Lucifer, and I’m your father. Pandora’s banished me from Heaven so I couldn’t meet with you. This is the first and last time we’ll see each other. I don’t live with forty women, only six, and all of them are only my collegues.” I was strongly hoping that Melpomene, my favourite muse, wasn’t listening, because during the years spent in banishment, we have gotten closer than planned. “Could you wake Adam?”

Eve stared at me thoughtfully for a while, then shook her head.

“Adam is spending his afternoon nap at the moment.”

“I see. And what is he going to do after that?”

“He eats, then starts his evening nap.”

Suddenly, I felt the urge to break something small and defenceless. I forced calmness onto my features so as not to scare my children, but inside I was seething with anger: turns out Pandora had spoiled them on a disgusting level, and it was a miracle they hadn’t already became dumb, overweight teenagers. Maybe the absence of television and crisps had prevented the catastrophe.

“Tell me, my sweet daughter… what are you two even doing all day in here?” I asked finally, hoping my forebonding feelings would prove incorrect.

“We eat, sleep and play tag,” Eve replied, as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

I was almost overcome by an ignored father’s rightful anger when I remembered my plan and grinned.

“It’s time I made your life more interesting,” I declared.

“How?” Eve’s emerald green eyes widened in excitement. Good; she’d got my curiosity.

“I’ll cut the blood relation between you and Adam. All the way for one hundred generations, so none of your daughters or sons will be related to each other.”

* * *

“You may resent me for it, but technically I was the reason why the human race has lost its immortality. Maara only would’ve let Adam and Eve live forever if they never had offsprings,” Lucifer explained, “however, I couldn’t stand by and watch my own children spend their days in blissful ignorance. In exchange for my inventions, you had to say goodbye to eternal life.”

“Some pleasure, and in return bye-bye, immortality?” raised her eyebrows Serene. “Not a particularly beneficial deal.”

“It’s not just love I’m talking about. Happiness, sadness, anger… emotions. They all come from me. Could you imagine your life without them?”

She tried. Empty-eyed mannequins came to mind behind plate glass. She shuddered and shook her head.

“Pandora admitted that our children had grown up, and after some help they’d be able to sustain themselves,” he continued. “Also, she wanted to hide them from me so I couldn’t interfere with their life ever again. So she created Earth to serve as your home in six seconds. In the seventh, she rested.”

Serene repeated, because she was afraid she heard it wrong, “Six  _ seconds? _ ”

“Yes, six seconds.”

“I read–” she tried, but Lucifer waved her off.

“Do you suppose that the Almighty Mother would spend days kneading a mudball together? No, she just formed the picture of your world in her head, and it came to be. Simple like that. Everything she told Gabriel to write down is carrot on a stick.”

Miss Nightingale decided not to ask any more questions. She was afraid the answers might make the story even more bizarre.

Lucifer stretched over the sheets, and went on, “Unfortunately, Pandora didn’t take one rather important condition into consideration: Maara’s unquenchable bloodthirst. The first pair of humans lived a long life, and Death barely could wait it out. She wanted thrill, dread and blood… a lot of blood. Understandably, two lives ended by old age didn’t make her too enthusiastic. She fell into depression. However, at the end of the dark tunnel, there was me, the banished, glowing like a beacon of hope.”

He licked his lips and grinned. His long fingers played with the fringe of his scarf.

“I offered a deal to Maara: she shows me the way to Earth, and I show her how to play the candles false in the Hall of Candles. The poor thing thought that the universe would collapse if she didn’t obey to the rules she hated so much.”

Lucifer quieted, and didn’t say anything else. Serene realised he waited for prompting.

“Did she agree?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” the demonlord spread his hands. “She led me to the mortal world, where then that little incident happened with Cain and his brother. Maara was over the moon, and even promised me the souls of murderers instead of sending them back to Pandora.”

“Do you want me to thank you?”

“I still have to tell the freshest part of the story.” Lucifer ignored the girl’s comment alltogether. “You’ll enjoy it for sure, since it’s about you.”

* * *

Pandora watched Earth, unhappy.

Our children lived there for several thousand years, inhabiting more and more of the planet thanks to my interference, and venturing towards space as well. Pandora endlessly created galaxies upon galaxies, giving them toys to play with, but it clearly wasn’t enough for them.

Not long after the new millenium, she realised that she was forgotten. A bunch of religions were founded for a wide array of immortal gods, but with a few exceptions, she didn’t see herself in any of them. Mostly because, thanks to my exceptionally humorous antics just to annoy her, most of their main gods were male.

Despite the religions, humans started to become more and more rotten and immoral; they stole, cheated, lied, didn’t respect the life of their fellow humans. They massacred each other in years-long, pointless wars.

Sin and sin everywhere.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” My hot breath caressed Pandora’s neck.

The Almighty Mother nearly jumped out of her skin, and turned furious eyes towards me.

“You aren’t allowed to take a step in here,” she hissed.

“Unfortunately, you no longer have the power to keep me out,” I shook my head in pity. “The billions of human souls I’ve collected over the times have considerably increased my power. Now we really are equals, and I’m not in such a vulnerable position anymore as I was when you banished me. For a thousand years now, I could have strolled into Heaven like before; I simply didn’t want to.”

Pandora eyed me thoughtfully, then asked, “Why are you here?”

Casually, I took a seat on Pandora’s throne after I shooed away the underfoot seraphs from around it.

“All Heaven is full of tales of how the Creator suffers from the sins and corruption of humanity… no wonder the gossip reached Hell as well. Less and less mortal souls go to you, because my business specialised on tempting humans to sin, Temptation Ltd., is more successful than ever. You sent your immortal guards to every newborn soul in vain, since temptation is strong enough that sometimes even those saint angels lose their minds and fall in love with their appointed mortal.” I smirked. “I have bigger influence on earthlings than you do.”

“Your point?”

“I challenge you to a duel, a contest; call it what you want,” I said, eyes flashing. “There is a young woman on Earth. She studies hard at the university, she’s nice to her neighbours. You’d never think she’ll end up in Hell after her death. And that  _ will _ be her fate if she continues on like this; the lady is an assassin in part-time, after all.”

Pandore sighed tiredly. She seemed much more run-down than when I’d last seen her.

“You said you wanted a contest.”

“Exactly. If you manage to save her soul before she dies, you’ll win, and as a reward, Temptation Ltd. will reduce its activities by fifty percent. However, if I win and she goes to Hell, then my wish comes true.”

“Which is?” Pandora gulped.

“I want free access to your heavenly bedroom.”

I could see: her first thought was that, signifying her unambigously negative answer, she’d deliver an enormous slap right in my pretty face, but then she changed her mind. It was so simple, after all: if she manages to save this single soul, half as much evil will torment Earth, and if she loses, the only change would be the intimacy in our relationship. In my valid suspicion, Pandora was rather nostalgic about the day when thanks to my “invention” the history of humanity had started.

She looked lonely.

“So, what’s your answer?” I prompted, although I knew it already.

Pandora, after a moment of hesitation, extended her hand, and I shook it, pleased.

The machine was running.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a few people meet a red-haired woman

The day had barely started, but Father Theodore Collins was already tired of the believers’ problems. He had been hearing confessions for three hours; he heard about an adultery, a missed mass, shoplifting and the murder of three women. With the last one, he was inclined to record the confession and forward it to the Yard, but his priestly self won, and he didn’t do it in the end. He was a servant of God first and British citizen second. Truth be told, he despised himself for it sometimes.

The most popular priest of Temple Church righted his collar, and stretched secretly in between two sinner souls’ absolution. As a healthy young man, it was natural that his limbs went numb sitting in the cramped space for so long. His shoulder-lenght auburn hair kept falling into his eyes, and it was rather annoying this time around. He had no choice but taming his locks with three hairclips, and he was strongly hoping he’d remember to take them out before finishing his work. If his teenage fangirls saw him like this, they’d be disillusioned and stop coming to mass. More souls would end up in hell because of him.

He desperately pressed his fingers into his own arm so as to prevent being overwhelmed by past, horrible memories. He was absolving souls at the moment; he had to focus on that, not on his own demons.

As the end of worktime approached, the number of arriving believers ceased, and Theo thanked heavens for it. This was the time he started to get the urge to cut into confessions about smaller sins: “Forgive me, daughter, but some people are standing in line to confess much more significant sins. That man, for example, is a serial killer, and he has to wait for absolution because of your petty errors.” Fortunately, his common sense always forced down the temptation, but it was harder and harder as the hours passed.

The door of the confessional opened, and a woman knelt down on the other side of the screen. Theo turned on the light for her, and leaned back tiredly. _She either cheated on her husband or hit her kids._ These two guesses sprang to mind at the moment.

“Father, do you believe in God?” asked the woman in a silky, alto voice.

Father Collins’s shock was undescribable. However, he must have heard something in the believer’s voice, because he didn’t snap at her to stop messing with him, but considered the question seriously and answered honestly.

“I want to.”

“I see,” nodded the woman. Judging from her voice, she was around Theo’s age, no older than twenty-five. “Let us assume that God exists. How do you envision him?”

The man was surprised by the questions, but he was also intrigued. Until now, it was always him who asked, and now it was his opinions that were asked about. It was new, and he decidedly liked it.

“I would lie if I said I envision him as a beardy old man,” he replied, turning towards the screen to try and have a look at the woman, “but human imagination is limited, and I haven’t thought about this much.”

“Then let us think,” smiled the woman, and this smile somehow warmed Theo’s heart. “Let us see what the world is like, and based on those observations, let us find out what the creator of it might be like. A logical approach, is it not?”

“Logical, yes,” said the priest, surprised at the simplicity and genius of the solution, and continued the trail of thought. “The world is a whimsical, unpredictable, but fundamentally pleasant place.”

The woman flashed a triumphant grin, and crossed her arms. The dim light reflected from a few of her wavy, red strands.

“So, whimsical and unpredictable, but fundamentally pleasant,” she repeated. “It is believed that God created humans to his own image, therefore he is similar to mortals. What kind of person do you envision with these traits, Father?”

Theo blinked in surprise. It was such a reasonable and coherent deduction of getting to know God, that he barely comprehended the answer when he was already saying it.

“A woman.”

A sniff could be heard from the other side of the confessional. Father Collins was afraid he offended the stranger so he wanted to take back what he said, but then the woman spoke up in a teary voice.

“You’ve made me glad beyond words. _Thank you._ I always knew I wasn’t completely forgotten.”

Theo’s dark blue eyes widened, and he threw open the door of his side of the booth, then the one on the other side.

The prie-dieu was empty, only the light twinkled sleepily.

The priest tried to find the mysterious woman with his eyes, excited, but he was alone. Well… not completely.

“Now, son, shouldn’t you be sitting inside, absolving the lambs of God?” Father Perrin was approaching him, walking in the aile between the benches.

“Have you seen a red-haired woman by any chance?” inquired Theo impatiently.

“Nobody was here,” said the elderly man, raising his eyebrows, especially when he noticed the lovely hairclips dangling from Theo’s hair. “You seem quite tired. It would be best if you rested. There’s only half an hour left of your confessions, anyhow.”

Theodore Collins tried to protest, but he changed his mind. Maybe he really just nodded off and imagined the strange confession? But then why was he still feeling the warmth in his heart that was placed there by the strange woman’s smile?

He waved his hand, and set off towards the vestry. Priests may be specialised in the spiritual world, but his collegues no doubt would think him insane if he declared he had met God. Especially if he added that He was actually a woman.

* * *

Serene Nightingale stabbed her knife into her alarm clock, grumbling, and turned to her other side to continue sleeping. She tried to latch onto the last remnants of sleep, not unlike someone who gets off the train, then realises it’s not their stop so they try to ran after the leaving vehicle — hopeless. Serene, too, got stuck at that “station”, angry and cheated. To top it off, an unexplainable, bad feeling grew in her very core. She frowned, distorted from sleep, and tried to remember what might be causing the butterflies in her stomach, but the flash of genius didn’t come. Up until Amadeus landed on her bed with a dismal meow.

Suddenly, the combined presence of the ginger cat and the jolly whistling coming from the kitchen melded together the lazily swirling thoughts in Serene’s brain. She jumped out of bed with an ear-splitting battle cry and charged into the kitchen.

“Good morning, darling!” greeted her the man who had fallen under the categories “nightmare” and “hallucination” until that point, smiling widely as he flipped a pancake with practised ease.

“What are you doing here?” Serene demanded, somewhat more civil than she originally intended. It must’ve been due to the heavenly scents, because her stomach gave a hungry rumble.

Lucifer, instead of answering, gestured towards the kitchen table, and completely ignoring her, he continued cooking. There was a provoking sort of self-confidence about his behaviour, and it annoyed her. As though he was the host, and Serene the guest. She sat down to the nicely set table anyway, and cautiously poked the new, red-black lilies occupying her vase. They didn’t bite her fingers off. Wonders of the world.

While she waited for the man to finish cooking, she secretly had a good look at him — in natural light, this time. The Prince of Darkness was standing in front of the stove without his coat on; his bare chest covered with a flower-patterned apron. He hadn’t taken his striped scarf off. His red-black hair reached his shoulders, but exactly in line with his spine, he left a wrist-wide tuft so long it almost brushed his ankles. Serene’s gaze travelled to the backside of his bright red leather pants, and her mouth watered.

She quickly shook her head, but it was too late: she felt blood rush to her face. _Good Lord, I’m ogling the Devil!_ , she thought in panic.

Lucifer’s bare shoulders shook, as if he found something really amusing. He turned, and carefully put the last of the pancakes on top of the stack.

“You gave me permission yourself last night to live in your apartment until the end of the contest,” he said, sitting down in front of the assassin, and took off the apron.

Serene just dumbly blinked at first, but then the meaning of the words reached her brain. She had the urge to shout again.

“You’re lying,” she blurted out in the end with total confidence.

“Not this time, sweetheart,” the man grinned, seemingly enjoying getting a rise out of her. “Look, you even signed the contract.”

Lucifer held the paper appearing out of nowhere just long enough under Serene’s nose for her to see her own signature, then made it vanish again. Miss Nightingale stared out of her head for a long moment with an empty gaze, and tried to gather her thoughts. Unless she was dealing with a sly swindler, then this guy _really_ was the devil, who had her permission to move into her apartment. He even made breakfast for two. Madness, absolute madness.

“I have to speak with my brother,” she said, the perfect solution coming to her in Vincent’s person, and she was already reaching for the phone.

Lucifer didn’t do anything to interfere, and just watched curiously what would happen.

* * *

Vincent picked up his phone, yawned, and closed his eyes. The ringing had woken him, so he wasn’t fully conscious yet: he didn’t process a single sound of Serene’s shrill explanation, for example.

“Lower pitch and slower pace, Serene,” he sighed, and absentmindedly started to caress the hair of the woman sleeping on his chest.

“The. Devil. Claims. That. I. Have. Signed. A. Contract. That. Lets. Him. Live. Here. _Until. I. Die!"_  the girl said furiously into the receiver. “What can’t you understand about this, Vincent? Vincent, are you listening to me?!”

But there was only silence on the other end of the line; mostly because that was the moment Vincent comprehended the presence of the unfamiliar woman in his bed. What should get a honourable mention was the fact he didn’t scream — he even managed to end the call sensibly.

“I-It’s not a good time right now, Serene, I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.”

Thaleia, Third Class Fallen Angel and most innocent-looking succubus blinked the sleep out of her eyes, then yawned deeply. After that, she lazily stretched her wings, and laid her arms around a mutely terrified Vincent’s neck.

“Good morning, Cenny,” she purred cheerily.

That was the moment Vincent realised what he thought to be an interesting and pleasant dream until now, was in fact reality. A demoness really did appear in his room in the middle of the night and informed him about the nonsensical occurences happening in his sister’s apartment. She told him about Lucifer’s bet with God, and how the object of the deal was Serene’s soul… and he, the weak mortal man slept with the envoy of the Prince of Darkness without a second thought because he believed her to be just a figment of his imagination. How could he look Serene in the eye after all this?

“Like you always have,” said the ‘colleague’ helpfully. “With your eyes. By the way, my name is Thaleia, and your thoughts are really loud. Calm down, please, because I can’t sleep like this. I’ve worked last night too, so I’m tired — it’s important for a succubus to always be well-rested, or else dark circles would appear around her eyes and that’s not attractive.”

“ _Succubus?_ ” Vincent breathed in the lowest voice possible. Actually, he only asked out of courtesy. He did not want to know exactly what kind of creature he’s spent the night with.

“Lust demon,” Thaleia replied, flashing her eyes cheerfully. “I’m sure you realise what that means. So, if you don’t have any more questions, I’d like to sleep now.”

The man nodded, and carefully tucked in the more and more evenly breathing demon girl so only her blonde hair was visible from under the covers. At least that looked mostly human — except for the horns.

Demons and succubi… Serene and that man… Vincent didn’t even know what part of the occurences he should be more worried about. As he got out of bed and started to dress, he foresaw with the wisdom of an oracle: his life was going to turn upside down.

* * *

Serene was pedaling her bicycle furiously in the morning rush. It wasn’t enough that Vincent ditched her without explanation, but thanks to Lucifer, she’ll be late for her first class, too. The demonlord had insisted on packing sandwiches and tea for her but he needed an hour to be done with them — all the while going on and on about the beauties of Hell. And when Serene slammed the front door on him, he even promised to make dinner. Just _great_ , there wasn’t a better word for it.

Of course, she had forgotten to bring an umbrella, so she got to soak at the red light as drivers sent her sympathetic looks then splashed her with mud and the water of puddles mercilessly. Serene fumed and cursed, and only calmed down somewhat when she was close enough to see the university.

Miraculously, she wasn’t late — just a few of her classmates were sitting in the auditorium. Some of them were reading or chatting; only one, unfamiliar redhead was sitting completely alone in the middle of the room.

Serene wasn’t a particularly paranoid person, but her first thought was still the mysterious Pandora who Lucifer had talked about. It was a rather bizarre thought, that God would sit in a university auditorium of the Faculty of Arts in London, but considering that the Devil had ended up in her apartment under similarly strange circumstances, it wasn’t unimaginable at all.

Miss Nightingale took two steps in the stranger’s direction and instantly scolded herself for always jumping to the worst conclusions. Most likely, the red-haired girl was just a mere university student, just like her, and she hadn’t seen her before because, let’s say, she had been abroad.

But then why was she feeling so certain about the fact that this woman was different from everyone else?

_She’s French_ , the flash of genius occured to her, _she’s clearly a French exchange student!_

She wasn’t in Lucifer’s pocket! She will walk up to the new student, and ask her what she thought about England. Like that, everything will be cleared and Serene could strangle the demonlord in peace for scaring her.

Pandora was staring at the professor’s desk, deep in thought, and didn’t even notice when Serene Nightingale sat down beside her. She was too occupied by her “confession” in the Temple Chruch and her love for mortals. She wanted to embrace all of her children after that young priest recognised her, but understandably, she didn’t. Instead, she smiled brightly at all of them and hoped they would understand in the dephts of their soul.

“Hi!” greeted her her new companion shakily, and Pandora flinched, turning to her. Then her eyes widened, and she gaped as she recognised the object of the debt: Serene Nightingale.

What should the Creator do when she had arrived to Earth barely a few hours ago, had got lost six times in the London Underground and the mazy hallways of the university, then the same mortal approached her who she wanted to be most prepared for before meeting? Start panicking and blabber in Enochian? Stop time to come up with an answer as she tries to calm down? Make the building level with the ground, generate a fire drill? Pandora didn’t like any of those options, but while her mind pondered hectically, she mechanically extended her hand and flashed a divine smile, hoping it’d work:

“Hi! I’m Pandora, and you are?”

It was Serene’s turn to try and come up with an answer, deathly pale. The name might be the same, but that didn’t have to mean that Lucifer was right. Maybe Pandora was a common French female name.

“Er… my name is Serene. I saw you’re not from around here, and wanted to ask… how do you like London so far?”

Although Serene thought the question normal, Pandora still panicked. Whoever else mortal asked her the same thing, she could’ve come up with something easily; she talked to the priest artlessly, after all. Serene, however, was a different case altogether. The woman’s stage fright jumped through the roof in her presence, and she was convinced that Miss Nightingale saw through the facade.

“Is it that obvious?” she moaned brokenly. “Even though I spent a whole night coming up with my incognito! I planned, I wrote my name into the university’s register… I even Created a fake ID!”

“Incognito?” Serene paled. The conversation with the supposed French exchange student went in the exact direction she wanted to avoid. Pandora, on the other hand, wasn’t even acknowledging her anymore:

“Lucifer will roll on the floor laughing if he learned you could tell at first glance that I’m God!” She paused, and turned a careful eye towards the girl. “Would you mind not telling him in case you meet? If only for my reputation…”

Miss Nightingale by this point was sobbing angrily, face-down on the desk. She couldn’t believe that everything happened as Lucifer foretold after her failed phone call: Pandora would show up to steer her soul in the right direction — probably in person. Well, a certain redheaded woman was in fact sitting beside her, but she hadn’t shown signs of wanting to convert her.

“Are you really God?” whispered Serene tiredly. This was a lot for a Thursday morning. “Are you people really not messing with me?”

Suddenly, Pandora’s blue eyes filled sympathy and pity. She put a motherly hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “I would fill the room with flowers for you, but it might just set you off more. Unfortunately, we’re not messing with you: we do want your soul.”

That was the moment Serene Nightingale accepted that she would go mad soon enough.

* * *

Theodore Collins, due to the events of that morning, asked Father Perrin to substitute for him in the evening mass this once. He knew his teenaged fans would leave in disappointment (Theo never tried to flatter himself by thinking that the giggling girls in the front rows were there for the ceremony), but he was willing to make that sacrifice for his peace of mind.

The rain had stopped, the puddles drying eagerly on the bank of the Thames when our priest settled down on a bench and started to eye the grey clouds passing in the sky. The sun sometimes broke through them with courage belittling death and painted bright patches onto the water of the river, but except for these attempts, London’s sky was dominated by clouds for now. Occasionally, the wind picked up and Father Collins had to pull his warm jacket more closely around himself so as not to get a cold. Even nice weather was deceiving in this town.

Not too far off, a young woman was leaning on the thick railing of the dock, lost in watching the river similarly to the man. She ran her fingers through her black hair once in a while, and shook her head in disbelief. She looked like someone who suffered some ordeals recently. Theo — as a sort of occupational hazard — always sensed these kinds of things.

“Do you think it won’t be raining any more, or will I regret I haven’t brought an umbrella?” he asked her.

“Going out in London without an umbrella is suicide,” Serene replied, and decided to sit next to the priest. “However, most likely it’s not going to rain again.”

For a few minutes, they stared wordlessly at the water and the lazily floating ships on its surface. Theo was thinking about how lost this girl seemed, and Serene about what a criminally handsome gentleman fate had shepherded in her direction. If she hadn’t met Lucifer, she was almost sure she would have melted into tiny puddles seeing the stranger — the demonlord’s beauty, however, was so powerful as the summer sun: dulled everything and everyone else. So Serene only felt a common nervousness around Theo and her head didn’t empty.

“You know, today I realised God exists,” he turned to Serene, but to his absolute shock, she flinched so hard as though the words slapped her in the face.

“Wow, really?” she said, raising her eyebrows nervously and not looking the priest in the eye. “Would you believe it, me too.”

Theo was dumbfounded. That was the answer he was expecting the least, and he was prepared for a series of hits by a purse accompanied by a shout of “Cultist freak!” as well. But for someone who has come to the same great realisation as he has, have this sour face?! She must have met a wrong god.

“God’s existence is not a burden,” he tried gently. “God just loves us, wants us to be happy and doesn’t ask for anything in return except for us to live an honest life and don’t forget about... him.”

Serene swallowed bitterly. However attractive this man was and whatever nice things he said, he didn’t have the Devil living in his apartment and didn’t have Pandora telling him there was a contest for his soul. Although Lucifer promised they wouldn’t bother her too much, Miss Nightingale was still somewhat saddened that she was just a tool in the opponents’ hands. The Creator might want to win for the Greater Good, but it still wasn’t nice of her. If she really loved her so much, she would have talked Lucifer out of the bet.

“What if God acted in the spirit of ‘the end justifies the means’, and didn’t care about our happiness?” she asked in case she got an answer that helped her out. You never know.

“I think God’s only goal is to have as much souls as possible in Heaven, close to him,” Theo said after a moment of thinking. “I doubt this would hinder people’s happiness. Why else would everyone trying to get there?” he laughed encouragingly since he noticed the colour coming back to the girl’s face.

Miss Nightingale’s distress miraculously lessened upon hearing the priest’s words. Could it be really that easy? Should she just listen to Pandora’s beckoning and leave her lifestyle behind to earn happiness? Somehow that seemed too good to be true. Life wasn’t like that. Even Lucifer wasn’t the horned-hoofed monster he was said to be. If the Creator was willing to use a human’s life to achive her own ends, why wouldn’t it be possible for the Devil to have a hint of goodness in him?

“What do you think of the other side?” she asked curiously, now that the stranger had such good answers to her other questions.

Theo blinked twice in surprise, and Serene could confirm one more time that her conversational partner was scarily attractive.

“I don’t know; I haven’t met the Devil yet.”

“I see.”

Serene lapsed into silence, and she was thinking about whether or not to ask the man’s name so as to guide the theological conversation into different waters. She wanted to, but she was also hesitant to: they might have nothing else in common. Maybe mercy only hooked them up for half an hour just to have them say goodbye and never see each other again.

Theo wasn’t thinking about things like that; he was just curious about the pretty and now less tense girl’s other questions she might have. He wanted to help her, to send off another soul on the way of tranquility.

Behind them on the promenade, a tall woman clad in black leather was passing by. Her gloved hand went unnoticed as she ran her fingertips over Serene Nightingale’s cheek, then repositioned her scythe, tall as a man, on her shoulder and whistling, she continued on. She didn’t attract attention; she walked the Earth unseen by mortals since the beginning of time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update every other Sunday, but my time management is terrible so don't hold your breath over it :D
> 
> A thousand thanks to Doxy, who helped me a lot by editing and spell-checking the mess this chapter originally was.


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